


Flipped

by Foolishheadstronggirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foolishheadstronggirl/pseuds/Foolishheadstronggirl
Summary: Scully loses it, but finds her frustration flipped on its ear in the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing anything for this amazing fandom, and it's not even MSR! (Other than the tiniest of nods.) Guaranteed to be a bit cringe-worthy, I’m sure, but I really REALLY want and need your feedback; I truly want to know if this is something I should continue pursuing, or if I should stick to reading!
> 
> Also, I know that I’m breaking a sanctimonious rule of writing and changing not only perspective but also the POV from 3rd to 1st, but it’s worth it for the story to maintain its measure of surprise.

_What a shit day,_ Scully thought as she walked out to her car in the parking garage.  It had been one of those surreal days where everything that was thrown at her fell short of expectations, unless of course you were actually shooting for extreme frustration.  It started out innocently enough; she had shown up early for their meeting with Skinner, only to be reamed out for Mulder’s latest foray into what he was convinced was paranormal, which naturally was not, and SHE was the recipient of the dressing-down of the year for not being able to rein in his ridiculousness.  Like that was even in the realm of possibility!

 

Scully let out a huff of irritation.  There had a been a moment – a brief, shining moment – when she truly thought that her presence and restraint could have helped Mulder see through the ruse they eventually uncovered.  She couldn’t help but soften, though, when she recalled the look of utter disappointment on his face upon discovery that the hauntings had all been elaborated faked.  It was hard to stay mad at Mulder; she sought to find the scientific explanation or every instance of something that appeared otherwise, but she still hating seeing him so crestfallen.  Sometimes she couldn’t help the tiny voice in her head that told her she could turn that frown upside down.

 

But not this time.  It was so embarrassing to be held responsible for something as uncontrollable and unpredictable as Mulder’s drive toward the paranormal!  She was no miracle worker.

 

Scully’s mind drifted briefly to their latest case.  There had been multitudinous reports of ghost sightings in the tiny town of Glenbrook, Nevada, starting with the report of one very unnerved kid who claimed to have spotted something moving in the upstairs window frame of an old estate home that had been condemned.  Scully suspected from the first few interviews that there HAD to be some kind of scam going on, given the extremely Scooby Doo vibe the whole thing gave off.  With the help of some blurry cell phone pictures of _something_ in the house, the good townsfolk had gotten some local news coverage, and suddenly, nearly every person interviewed had some kind of fantastic story about feeling a _presence_ around town since the very day the estate was closed up for good.  When all the cards had been laid out finally, after four exasperating days of what felt like interviewing every single one of the town’s 215 inhabitants to varying degrees of escalating claims of being in touch with the “ghost”, it was unearthed that the initial sighting had been nothing more than a stupid gag to spook the kid who saw the _something_ at the beginning.

 

And Scully had quite plainly told Mulder in that first day that it smelled strongly of a stupid prank which snowballed into the ludicrousness that found its way onto Mulder’s desk.  Regardless of emphatically informing him that a late-night stakeout would turn up absolutely nothing except a headache and loss of sleep, Mulder insisted they keep an eye on the house to try to catch a glimpse of the ghost…which led to Mulder getting frustrated and bored after 2 hours of nothing…which is how they ended up inside the estate at 1am, Mulder hanging painfully from the third story of an overlooking inner balcony due to WALKING AROUND IN A CONDEMNED HOUSE and nearly breaking his ankle and wrenching his shoulder in the resulting drop.  Which is the reason why Skinner had crawled their asses for the mountain of resources and money wasted for what he described as, “the most inane example of believing stupid things and wasting good time, energy, and money on the FBI’s dime.”

 

“Ugh, I need a drink,” Scully muttered under her breath as she cranked up and pulled out of the parking garage.  Oddly, though, the thought of drinking wine in the ~~loneliness~~ solitude of her own living room was not enticing.  She couldn’t even remember the last time she had gone to a local bar, but the idea of sitting anonymous on a stool and ignoring everything but the drink in front of her was enticing.

 

After a quick U-turn away from her neighborhood and back into the city, Scully found herself walking into a small, surprisingly quiet bar that advertised good atmosphere and the finest brews in the county.

 

******

 

I had not been in this frankly surprisingly satisfying pub for more than a half-hour when she walked in.  Even if she had not been beautiful (which she most certainly was), she would have stuck out like a sore thumb here for a number of reasons.  The brilliance of her hair as she shook it out seemed to scatter small points of lights around the room, drawing the eye of most of the establishment’s patrons, occupied or not.  The subtle roll of her neck, revealing a delicate expanse of pale skin, was a magnet for any eyes not previously distracted by her entrance.  The bar was not especially packed, but it held enough patrons to make the shift of gazes her way look almost comical.

 

She was like a lodestone, and the pull was inescapable.  I certainly couldn’t tear my eyes away.

 

Her body language quite distinctly expressed a longing for exactly the opposite kind of attention.  The hunch of her shoulders as she took a seat at the bar, the pinch between her eyebrows, the flat tone of her voice as she requested her drink of choice, all fairly screamed of a desire for privacy.  Best to stay put and let her seek her relief alone.

 

Apparently I was the only person who could read her vibes.

 

She had not been sitting there for a solid 5 minutes before a moderately attractive man sidled up to the bar next to her and attempted to engage her in conversation.  I happened to be close enough to hear the majority of what was said, and found my earlier assumptions to be correct.  She kindly but firmly informed the guy that she appreciated his thoughtfulness in offering to buy her a drink, but she would not be very good company this evening.  The gentleman quietly slipped away, and she turned her body back to the bar.

 

This slightly amusing interaction repeated itself 3 more times, with escalating frustration on her part.  It was clear to me that she was becoming more irritated with each encounter, and her responses became more curt and to the point with each would-be suitor’s approach.  The last man who approached her received no more than a, “I’m not interested, please don’t bother,” without so much as lifting her eyes off her drink to give him the slightest cursory glance.  I don’t think he even rested his posterior fully on the bar stool next to her.

 

They say that even the most docile of nature has its breaking point.  Unfortunately for bachelor number 5, his over-confident approach had pushed her over the edge.  She threw her shoulders back and spun around on the stool she was perched on, eyes flashing.

 

“If another guy comes up to me and tries to hit on me, I will have some explaining to do at work tomorrow about why I pulled out my service weapon in this bar.  I am not interested, I do not want company, and I can promise that you will receive nothing but grief from me.  Leave me alone, please!” she exclaimed.

 

To say I was intrigued was an understatement.  I quietly slid out of my booth and walked in the direction of the figure that had captivated my interest from the moment she stepped in the bar.

 

******

 

Scully had had enough.  Damnit, why were men so dense sometimes?!  Her quiet evening nursing a drink had been obliterated.  She lifted her head to murmur an apology to the bartender, who was looking beyond her with an expression of amusement and disbelief.  _Oh, great; SOMEone here did not get the memo._   Scully sullenly refused to turn around to face her newest visitor at first, but the words she heard next had her spinning in surprise:

 

“So, what if it’s not a guy?”

 

Icy blue met stormy blue-grey, and a slender hand reached forward to gently caress Scully’s wrist down to clasp her hand delicately.

 

“Hello.  I’m Stella.”


End file.
